


Insecure

by Trash



Series: Isolation creations 2020 [1]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, addiction issues, idk man just bleakness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: Kyle has a bite mark on the inside of his arm.
Relationships: Charlie Barnes/Kyle Simmons
Series: Isolation creations 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682932
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Insecure

_It's haunting 'cause you left no choice_  
_I dealt with the mess you made_  
_It broke my heart to watch it fall apart_

Kyle has a bite mark on the inside of his arm. You wouldn’t notice it at first, but once you do it’s all you can see. All Charlie can see. Probably wouldn’t be the case if he had been the one to leave the mark. 

He wants to make some quip, some cutting remark about how quickly Kyle has moved on. Wants to say something about people jumping in graves, warm beds, whatever. But he doesn’t have the energy. Instead he stares at it pointedly and tries to imagine the mouth that had been there, teeth clamped down. He can picture Kyle with his head thrown back, can hear the sharp inhale. 

Kyle sees him looking and their eyes meet. Charlie tells himself to hold out, hold the stare, but he folds first. Always folds first.

***

Kyle is spiralling. Charlie says as much as he empties the recycling bin. “Your landlord will have a fit if you miss bin day,” he says, “again.”

“Want a spliff?” Kyle asks.

“No, thanks,” Charlie says. He dumps the bag by the front door. He feels boring, suddenly, as he watches Kyle’s fold himself almost in half to hang out of the kitchen window and smoke.

“Sure? It’s laced with ket.”

“Have you called your mum?”

“She doesn’t like ket.”

“You used to ring her all the time.”

Kyle takes a drag, exhales. “Mmm,” he says.

“What’s going on?” Charlie asks. “With you, I mean. I just...don’t know what to do anymore. Don’t you want me around? Don’t you love me?”

“I love you,” Kyle says, “but I don’t know what to do anymore, either.” 

“I’m tired,” Charlie tells him. “I’m tired of this.”

“It’s depression, baby.”

“It’s not depression, Kyle, it’s self in-fucking-dulgence. I have depression, I get it. But I never shut you out. I don’t hide behind my addiction issues like a...a…”

“What?”

“Cunt.”

Kyle laughs. “Oooh. Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?”

“I know who I won’t be kissing with it anymore,” Charlie says. He grabs a bag from under the sink and gathers up the few things he had scattered around Kyle’s flat. He’s heading to the door and Kyle hasn’t even looked up, hasn’t said a single thing. Charlie leaves the bag of recycling, the vodka bottles and cider cans, and leaves quietly without making a fuss.

***

“It wasn’t me,” Dan says to him. They’re standing by the bus at a service station. A shit one with a worse-for-wear Little Chef and no stalls, only urinals, in the toilets. 

“What wasn’t, Shaggy?”

Dan smirks. “The bite. It wasn’t me. I didn’t...I thought you might think…”

He did. That was his first thought. And maybe this is the lady protesting too much, but Charlie is so emotionally removed from just about everything now he couldn’t care less. “Okay, thanks for clearing that up.”

“I just wanted you to know I think he’s being a prick. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Charlie laughs humourlessly. “Nothing happened to him,” he says. “He was always a prick. He just charmed us into thinking otherwise.”

Dan looks taken aback. “That’s harsh,” he says. “He’s struggling.”

“Aren’t we all? I couldn’t get out of bed this morning even though I don’t have money worries right now and I’m doing my dream job. That’s how chemical imbalances work. But I manage to get through the day without being a toxic arsehole about it to the people who love me.”

Dan opens his mouth, closes it again, opens it, takes a breath and exhales slowly. “I mean...yeah. Yeah, you’re not wrong, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry,” Charlie says as he pushes himself away from the side of the bus, stretches until his joints pop pleasingly, “I’m not going to burn my bridges. Show must go on, blah, blah. I can play nice.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“No, you’re right.”


End file.
